Last Name
by Bones365
Summary: "I suppose I'm just happy with the way things turned out. I'm glad you have my last name." He smiled. Harry and Ginny reflect on their life and their Last Name. Pure fluff! Reviews always appreciated.


_Hello! I don't own anything, it's all due to the wonderful Ms. Rowling! Enjoy and Review!_

"Mrs. Potter? Mrs. Potter. Mrs. Potter!"

My head snapped up and I blinked, focusing my eyes on the woman in front of me.

"Yes?"

"The files from the Department of International Relations were sent over." I blinked. Again. Margaret, my secretary waved a stack of papers under my nose.

"Of course! Here, I'll take them." I reached my hand out to take the files. Margaret gave me a stern kind of look before shaking her head and backing out of my office.

I sighed and tried to loosen the knots in my neck, marveling at how intense my concentration had been before Margaret had come in.

The voice in the back of my head snickered. _You're not going to blame it completely on your concentration, are you?_ I shook my head, but had to concede to the voice. It was odd, the situation I found myself in.

I heard Margaret outside, rummaging through her gigantic purse. Six already? Trying to rub my shoulders one-handed, I glanced over at the clock.

No, not six, eight. I cursed under my breath.

"Well," I whispered to myself, "Nothing to do now but go home, I suppose."

"What was that?" Margaret stuck her head back into my office. I could feel my cheeks heating.

"Um… Nothing…nothing. Headed home?" I asked, nodding to her briefcase, she gave me an odd look.

"Yes. I suppose I'll be seeing you Tuesday?" I looked at her blankly. "Tuesday, Mrs. Potter, because of the national holiday on Monday. Celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord?"

Her eyebrow raised questioningly. I grew redder.

"Of course! I know, I was just…remembering something. I'll see you Tuesday, Margaret. Have a good holiday!" I tried to sound as cheery and self-assured as possible, in order to dispel her growing suspicion that I was off my rocker.

When I finally heard her whoosh down the hall, I allowed myself to groan and drop my head into my hands.

"I'm going crazy." I told myself, picking up my things and cramming them into my bag before stepping into my fireplace. "But of course, I _am_ talking to myself, so perhaps I already am… Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

I spun into the safety and sanity of my own house. Well, Harry's house, but it was mine now, too. Which was, really, the root of the previous situation with Margaret.

An absolutely heavenly scent was wafting from the kitchen, and I followed it gratefully.

Rounding the corner of the living room, I could see down the hallway into the kitchen. I had to stifle a laugh. Harry was standing over the stove, stirring something, reaching back every once in a while to add this or that to the pot, while Kreacher stood nervously to the side.

"If master would just let Kreacher-" Harry whirled around, pointing the wooden spoon at Kreacher's chest.

"Kreacher! I know how to cook, I swear! I've done it successfully several times, if you'll recall." He glared at the little house-elf, but Kreacher didn't flinch.

"Kreacher does recall, Master. Kreacher also recalls how master left the stove on and almost burnt Master's house down."

"Well, you'd think that you would like a break once in a while! I'm just restless. Why don't you go… I dunno… Help Mrs. Weasley!"

"As Master wishes." Kreacher muttered, defeated, cracking out of sight. Harry looked up and saw me.

"He's getting right cheeky!" He said, pointing the spoon back to where Kreacher had just been. I stepped fully into the kitchen, laying my coat across a worn wooden chair.

"Well, didn't you tell him to?" I asked, sneaking a tomato out of the salad bowl on the counter. Harry glared at me.

"I asked him to be more himself around me! I didn't know that "more himself" involved biting sarcasm and chronic bossiness!" I perched myself on a stool, reaching back into the bowl.

"Well you should be used to that. You've lived with me and Hermione long enough." He frowned at me and turned back to the stove. "This is good. What dressing is on this?"

Harry poked his wand at the stove, turning the flames off before reaching for two bowls.

"It's a Potter secret." He replied, ladling two bowls of steaming stew.

"Ah, but I'm a Potter, now. Does that mean I get to know?" He turned to put the bowls down in front of my stool and the one next to it.

"Well, no. It's an ancient blood secret, handed down through generations of Potters, bred into us, like our Quidditch skill." He sat down next to me and dragged the salad bowl towards us.

These were my favorite times. Just me and Harry. We wouldn't sit in the giant dining room, but just here, in the cozy little kitchen. We wouldn't bother with salad plates, instead just sticking our forks straight into the big bowl.

"So it's the usual… dragon scales, fairy dust, and stinksap?" I joked, returning to our salad conversation. Harry paused his fork in mid-air and turned to look at me.

"Who told you?" he asked, looking alarmed. I just smiled back. Like I said, the best. Just the two of us. The meal lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments.

"So, I forgot that I married you today." I said finally. Harry snorted pumpkin juice onto the table.

"Nice to know I'm so important to you!" he exclaimed, mock-angry. "I'll have you know that there were hundreds of girls jockeying for the position of my wife-"

"And they still are." I mumbled.

"-and you, the one I choose, forget that the wedding ever happened! Charming." I chuckled, wiping juice up from the placemats.

"Not like that. Just…Margret was trying to give me a file and she kept saying 'Mrs. Potter', and it took me about thirty seconds to remember that 'Mrs. Potter' is me!" Harry speared a tomato with his fork and popped it in his mouth, studying me as he chewed.

"You know, I've never really thought about it, but it's weird for me, too." He finally said.

"See?" I exclaimed. He shook his head.

"I mean, to me you're just Ginny. I try to associate you with the Weasleys as little as possible."

"Why?"

"Your brothers scare the life out of me. Any time I tried to do anything I would just think of them and stop. Anyways, I just try to keep last names out of the equation, when it comes to you." I picked up the dishes in front of us and carried them to the sink, snagging the last carrot before Harry could.

"Well I suppose that makes sense." I walked back over to him, leaning close. "I would hate for you to have to stop whenever you…_tried to do anything._" I could feel him smile when our lips touched.

"Really hate it…" he groaned, pulling me closer. I let my arms loop around his neck, drawing our bodies together, when a loud _crack_ split us apart.

Kreacher stood before us, his feet covered in what looked like… mud and feathers? He scowled when he saw me. Kreacher had long ago let go of his bias against me, or any of the Weasleys, but he'd recently come to associate me with my mother.

"Mrs. Weasley had Kreacher clean out the chicken coops, Master." So, not quite only mud on his feet. I tried to smile as warmly as possible. Mum loved Kreacher, because he would do all the things that no one else wanted to do.

"Well…I'm sorry, Kreacher. I can do the dishes…" He flapped his arms at me, scooting me and Harry out of the kitchen.

"It's Kreacher's job, Mistress. Not cleaning out the muck and grime of chickens who belong in the oven…" Kreacher continued to mumble as we walked down the hall into the living room.

With a flick of his wand, Harry brought a fire to life in the huge fireplace, illuminating the room. I had to marvel once again at the change in the place.

I could still remember when it was so old and gloomy and dusty you could barely stand to be here. But now… looking around, I had to be thankful for Harry's large Gringotts vault and the interior decorator it had allowed.

The walls and furnishings were now all warm, honeyed tones, mixed with rich Persian rugs and squishy chairs and couches.

Harry and I sank into one now, facing the fire. I settled into his side, leaning my head on his shoulder and watching the flames. I spoke up.

"What if we just get new last names?" I asked, tilting my head to look at him. He nodded seriously at the fire in front of us.

"You know, I think that's perfectly reasonable. All this pesky business about being famous? I could live without it! And the whole familial legacy and trying to remember my parents and carry on their good name? Sod it. Let's change names, get some plastic surgery, and move. That'll justify you forgetting that you married me!"

"Here, here!" I chimed, giggling. I snuggled in closer as Kreacher brought in a tray with tea and some biscuits. He'd washed most of the…dirt and various other substances off of his feet, (probably, alarmingly, in the kitchen sink), but he still managed to have several feathers stuck into his cottony hair. He was muttering to himself about "bloody old women who aren't even Master's kin" as he left.

Harry and I lapsed into another comfortable silence. At times, times like this, it really was hard to understand that this was my life. Sure, I could imagine it. I had been imagining it since I was about ten. Though, admittedly, my fantasies hadn't included a cranky old house-elf and a house that almost fell down around our ears when we first inherited it.

Also, I hadn't realized that a life with Harry would be so peaceful. I had all these thoughts of grandeur; that he would be out saving the world all the time and when he'd come home we'd shag like rabbits. I thought that there would be drama and excitement. Instead, I've come to find that I like the real version so much more.

I love that batty old house-elf. While he'd never admit it, I saw him shed a few tears at our wedding.

"Masters come and go, Mistress. Kreacher does not become attached. Kreacher wouldn't be surprised if the Master had a new Mistress by summer…" Harry had been so angry he'd ordered Kreacher to stay with Mum to help until every one of the wedding decorations was gone and all the mess was cleaned up.

Even after all that, Kreacher likes me…I think. He seems nice enough, and he does his best to make me happy, even with all the changes I've put into the house. He's got a soft spot, that elf, and I wouldn't be surprised if he'd kept those feathers in his hair on purpose.

As for the drama and the excitement? Harry doesn't really want any of it, and I've come to realize that I don't either. As an Auror, he's got a fair bit of excitement at his job, and luckily, after the war, it doesn't involve saving the world on such a large scale. He's perfectly content rounding up criminals and helping old ladies check their hedges for burglars or stray cats.

I _like_ my quiet life with him. I _like_ that when I've had a stressful day at work, I can come home and sit with him and it all disappears. We can laugh about our batty, softhearted house-elf, and do nothing but sit in front of a fire and talk for hours. Or not talk.

I frowned and looked over at my husband. Harry and I are pretty good at silences, but this had gone on a bit long. I nudged him with my elbow and he looked down at me.

"You know, I was thinking. And I'm not being disrespectful here, I feel like I pictured our marriage to be a lot different than it is." He said. I smiled at him. There was no way he could know that's what I'd been thinking about.

"In what ways?" I asked, trying to keep it innocent, sipping my tea and waiting to hear what he thought of me when we were younger.

"Well, for instance, I felt like there'd be more Weasley involvement? Like your mum and brothers would be popping around all the time checking to see that I was treating you properly." He bit into a biscuit thoughtfully.

"And good thing they don't," I teased, setting my tea down, "You don't treat me properly at all. You just took the last biscuit." He scowled at me and handed me half of it before continuing.

"And, I guess I felt like there'd still be some lingering hero-worship stuff on your end. Like when you were a kid? I was actually nervous about that for a while, that maybe you'd relapse or something. Thankfully," He tried to look stern, "You not only treat me like everyone else, I have a suspicion that you treat me _worse_ than everyone else."

I shrugged as I brushed crumbs off my jumper. "Whatever keeps you in your place, Potter."

"I suppose I'm just happy with the way things turned out. I'm glad you have my last name." He smiled and looked at the fire once more. I nodded and waited for him to put his mug on the coffee table.

"Would you like to go shag like rabbits?" I asked, and he picked me up without saying a word, slinging me over his shoulder and sprinting up the stairs as I laughed uncontrollably.

After a _very_ pleasant interlude, I curled up into the hollow of his shoulder, sighing my contentment.

"I'm glad I have your last name, too." I smiled when he kissed my forehead. "Also, I'm very glad that my family doesn't pop in all the time. Otherwise we'd have to be very careful about what we just did. Where we do it…when we do it… And I have to say that I really enjoy having you wherever I want." he grunted and ran his fingers along my back, he'd probably be ready to go again soon.

He leaned down to kiss me, and right before our lips touched, I pulled back just a tad.

"Harry, do you think Kreacher likes me?" I asked, remembering my earlier musings. He laughed and rolled me under him.

"Shut up, please, Mrs. Potter."


End file.
